


Escape In Style

by AlluringMary



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Breathplay, Crossover, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Light Bondage, M/M, Other, Switching, assassin reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlluringMary/pseuds/AlluringMary
Summary: You reason this whole affair is Garneau's fault--if the man hadn't come to exist you wouldn't be in this situation.Reader is an assassin sent to Chicago to kill Garneau and Pearce might be a tad too invasive concerning the Brotherhood's business.
Relationships: Aiden Pearce/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Escape In Style

**Author's Note:**

> So Legion is coming out... And it got hacked... That's rather poetic not gonna lie.
> 
> Pearce's trailer revived my interest in the character and I'm so curious about the new assassin, Darcy I believe her name is? It's kind of tough to get hyped for the new AC games since Ubi got rid of Desmond but Legion? I mean Wrench AND Aiden????
> 
> They can hack into MY mainframe if you know what I mean UwU

_"He'd make a poor recruit,"_ Your own voice plays to you and distinctly you feel your stomach sink. Your cell had assured you your phone calls would be untraceable. _"He's impulsive, bitter--and I know what you're thinking, not in a good way. He doesn't even know who it is he's looking for or how big this all is."_

The Master's voice sounds distorted from the other line, _"How could he? They don't exactly make this easy."_

_"He's a 'fixer', not worth the time, I tell you. And... he's not exactly stable, like I said--the Fox's not worth the trouble, too flashy and..."_

_"...and?"_

_"He seems like a bit of a sociopath, a little too violent."_

You've seen that man bash a potential mugger's face in with a tactical baton and hop in the L train to reach the other side of the city in the same breath. You'd admire Pearce's cool and experience as a fixer if it didn't come hand in hand with his nigh blind want for revenge and little consideration for those who happened to get in the way.

_"...I see." The Master's silence rang supreme even now. "Ready yourself for extraction."_

_"Peace."_ You'd saluted.

_"Peace."_

The cheap speaker at your feet cracked before going silent. On cue, a light flashed in the corner of your eye. You'd surmised the gutted building was still furnished in electricity since the construction crew's cables snaked on every floor. For a moment, only the sound of the rain falling in pellets and your breath were the only present sounds. You strained your ear, cowering from the blinding light when the speaker came to life once again.

"Sociopath?" Pearce's voice drifted from it. "How would--"

Before much more could be said, you brought your boot down onto the piece of hardware. You shook your foot free of the miscellaneous bits of plastic and metal. You weren't one to play mind games and far from being in the mood to waste time. You needed to reach the port district and fast. It wasn't your first time dealing with nosy fixers, but those hadn't been Aiden Pearce.

Zipping your coat closed, you rushed to the edge of the building, in the middle of renovation, it had many wide open areas that allowed you to cross sections efficiently but also where sound traveled well. Footfalls that aren't your own echo loudly--it's easy to hear him already on your tail.

Behind, diagonally few feet to your right. For all the ground he gains up on you with superior speed, you make up for the easy flow of your movements. You feel each of your steps shudder back into your core, feel the tremble in your breath and his larger reach almost ends the chase too soon.

You vault over an empty windowsill, quickly pushing back against the frame to gain enough momentum. The head start you get is minimal but every inch helps in this hunt. Coming around a corner, you spot a half opened entryway. Quickly you thrust your elbow forward--the cracked, humid doors yield under your strength but the shock runs up your arm, sending warm pain up your shoulder.

On your left, you spot a wide gaping hole in the side of the defunct apartment building. Beyond a flimsy coverage of yellow plastic safety ribbons warning off would-be trespassers, you can see the lights of the city shine bright. You knew while scouting the place out that not many escape routes opened themselves to you and the path you'd taken was one of the few ones that allowed minimal encounters with video cameras.

Yet you do not think they would prove to be of any disservice seeing as you're already involved with the hacker.

Having spotted them during your original scouting of the rendez vous point, you reach to your right. You grasp for the collection of wooden sheets propped against the wall--and without looking back send sprawling behind you. The answering curse behind the cacophonous sound of crashing reassures you of Pearce's delay, perhaps long enough for him to reach for his phone.

From the edge of the hole in the old brick, you jump down onto the ledge below, easily busting through the ribbons. The rock whines and complains under the weight but you finally reach the outside. Still you can hear his steps are quick behind you. You hope he gets deterred from the height. The platform is slippery with fresh rain, your grip wavers. Readying yourself, you flex your legs and make your last fall count--your knees protest when you fall down onto the paved ground. A distinct buzz rings out ahead of you, you flex your wrist, readying your hidden blade.

With a loud snap, the chain link grate leading to empty streets slams closed. Finally, you notice the Vigilante hasn't followed your path down and used his idle time to hack into the gate's mechanisms. This decision is going to cost him your capture, you're sure. You jump up and grasp at the nearest handhold, your fingertips strain to gain proper leverage and burn from the coldness of the metal. But still you propel yourself upwards, finding enough strength to push further upwards, you dig your sneakers into the nooks you find and--A powerful shock runs through you, locking your muscles together and rendering your grip on the metal null. The pain petrifies you and helpless, you fall down like a swatted fly on the ground. The pavement's slick with rain, your head throbs form the fall but the twin prongs coursing electricity through your body capture your attention fully.

Your body still twitching, you see Pearce's frame approach in the corner of your eye. Through the eye watering pain, you discern the shape of a hidden handgun on the side of his tan coat. His form flashes red for a second to your eye.

“I don't want to kill you." His breath's short but his tone's light. He hooks a finger into his scarf and pulls it down into his collar to reveal his face and takes in deep intakes of air. "But I need answers, and I need them now."

The electric pulse has left your teeth gritted. You feel the pain bleed away from your muscles but still he doesn't try to restrain you. Painstakingly, you attempt to unlock your jaw and talk. Pearce continues, "You're leaving tonight and if I let you go, there's a good chance we'd never hear from you again... I can't let that happen."

Cautiously, you sit up, eyeing his hands when they fall to his sides. "I don't know what you're on about," You say, knowing even that can't fool him but still trying. "What kind of maniac carries a stun gun around?" His eyes slide to your sleeve where the creasing of your coat is more evident. He knows, somehow he fucking knows. A cold weight, unrelated to the rain, drop into your stomach. "You could hurt someone with that."

"You're not a fixer, much less a hacker. Who are you?" He asks, uncaring as rain rolls off his beaten baseball cap and the leather of his coat.

"You know who I am. We've been all over the city together."

No matter the years of experience gathering intel on his side, Pearce frowns. There's not a trace of you to be found anymore, you bet. The Creed may not be Dedsec level but it does its job alright, there's nothing left of the ghost accounts, credit history, fake social media presence and manufactured diplomas your team had created to make your existence believable. As far as the Vigilante knows, he's looking at a ghost.

It's easy to be one when born and living off the grid.

"You're tailing someone, a man you can't reach." He says, calculating. "And so you're leaving."

"Rude, listening to people's calls."

"The way you took off... I can tell this is something that doesn't involve Blume. And if it's got anything to do with Abstergo..." He pauses, light colored eyes searching your face. "Who are you?"

The urge to laugh overtakes you and you let a grin split your face. "Honestly, I wouldn't know how to answer that..."

"Whoever they are, your hackers are good.” Pearce says and even he looks surprised by his admission. “But if they were better, they' have figured out a way to take care of Garneau. You need assistance, I need answers. How about we help each other?"

“I don't know what you're on about. 'far as I know--" You cautiously gather your legs under you, watching carefully for an opening to get away--a quick sweep of your leg could destabilize him, give you an edge to strike and flee. "You're just a sicko with a few gadgets."

“Bold coming from someone who just scaled down a building with their bare hands.”

“Is there any other way?”

“For the most reasonable people, I suppose there is. Now,” A mechanical whir above your head draws your attention away from his face and towards a small camera tucked away into the brick. Fuck. “Judging by that hood over your head, I'm not so sure you'd like your face all over the city.”

You don't snap, you even got a bloody inner cheek to prove it. Instead you feel the blood on your tongue and focus on your breathing. Of course you'd made the climb without lowering your hood like some fucking initiate.

"Who's Subject 17?"

The question makes you freeze, you felt small drops of rain pelt you in the face and the breath sucked out of your lungs. That was a secret well kept, not many even at Abstergo knew his name.

Now far less convincingly, you huff, "I don't think you understand what you're asking, Pearce. 17's just a sample donor, how could this be a concern to you?."

"The man coming into town," He continued, even though the lack of real answer clearly bothered him. "Garneau, the CCO of Abstergo, he's got something to do with 17, you and whatever the hell you're apart of. Don't lie to me, I know I've struck a nerve."

"Do you, now?" With a powerful kick of your leg, you swipe his legs from underneath him. You don't bother watching him fall and force your spasming muscles into action. He can't follow you for long, Pearce doesn't know how to move like you, much less climb. It'll take time for his stun gun to recharge, but your bike was on the other side of that fence. To circle back...

"Fuck." You snap, coming to a brutal halt. Fleeing now would be a mistake, Pearce would only spread this video and your future jobs would be nightmarish to complete. On top of all this, you cannot afford to kill off the fucking Vigilante! Slowly you turn on your heel, the man is already getting up, his hand's reaching inside his coat.

“Before you do anything stupid,” You start, watching as his hand freezes. “I'm gonna need to make a call.”

//

“Your driving's shit.” You comment just as what was supposed to be a tight turn sends the car on a wide arch onto the freeway.

“You're here to observe.” Aiden bites back, eyes jumping from his phone to the road ahead. “Not talk my ear off. Calm down, we'll prepare for him.”

“I wouldn't be worrying if you hadn't provoked him in the first place.” You feel sweat pearl on the back of your neck despite the wind whistling into the car. You think back to the small café lost on the stretch of the road. The smell of coffee lingered on your nose, you could see the Grand Master turning his back to you to find the bathroom. The bastard had been right for the plucking and before you had the chance to cross into the establishment, Aiden had already texted him. Seconds later, Garneau had fled through the back like a spooked horse.

“I had him.” A quick swipe of your blade or strong choke hold would have sent him to meet his maker. “For fuck's sake, I had him.”

“The Brotherhood will get their kill.” Without a warning, he presses his foot to the pedal, quickly gaining speed and zipping ahead of a handful of cars. Other drivers swerve out the way and honk when the car screeches to a halt. “We're right on top of the convoy, get ready.”

It should come as an understatement you've been trained in case you ever got into a car chase, you're not the best one there is but you're a far cry better than the madman at your side. Both of you jolt in your seats at the sudden stop. You feel your heart thundering in your chest, wincing when the seatbelt digs into your collarbone.

“I've never thought I'd die in a fucking car crash.”

“And you didn't, quit whining.”

“No explosives,” You warn, eyeing the cars closing in behind you in the mirror. “I need a body.”

“You'll get one.”

And then, when you both wait for them to close in, you add, “Up close and personal... If possible.”

//

“You're leaving.” Aiden doesn't word it like a question anymore, you both know your mission's over. A white feather flaked with the Templar's blood's safely stored in the buzzing freezer to your left, your cleaned blade's drying in dish rack.

“I still have some time left...” You slump into the polyester couch shoved in the corner of the small apartment you'd been occupying. It's barely big enough to accommodate you and the tall man lumbering about seems to make the whole place shrink in size. “Might use a few days for sightseeing.”

The ship's already left port, scheduling another pick-up is going to be a pain--even more so with ctOS's aggressive face recognition tech. You wonder when or even if a replacement will come along after you leave, if Chicago's just another lost hold.

“Yet somehow you seem like you've got something else on your mind.”

A few moments after your breathing's gone back to normal and you've laid a blanket over both of you, you wonder what the hell possessed you to think this would be okay.

Echoing your own thoughts, Aiden rumbles after a couple of minutes, “Was it really such a good idea to bring me to your safe house?” You think for a moment when you're running your fingers over the dusting of facial hair on his chin. Despite the dreadful weather outside, you're wonderfully warm pressed against him.

Now you've had your share of flings and such talking noncommittally while they regained their neurons and higher brain functions so you don't mind the probing. “Sure felt like it.”

His fingers languidly trail down your side, tracing the thin, neat black lines of a tattoo. It's simple in design, one you'd gotten in your late teens as a knee-jerk decision when an assassin cell had merged with your compound. The Sister who had tattooed you had made it small and light. Nowadays, you griped often about its smallness and lack of meaning, it was a just a dollop of ink beneath your skin which could every easily give you away if spotted.

"Any meaning?"

Your mind went back to your Brothers and Sisters leaning over the work, nervous and excited at the same time of the prospect of being similarly branded themselves. Tattoos, while not encouraged, were almost a rite of passage. 

"No... it's just tradition."

There's a loosening cramp in your left thigh, muscle pulls like a bitch. There's a distinct smell of stale coffee lingering in the air and surprisingly tobacco. He hadn't tasted like he smoked, certainly had more stamina than your average smoker. Perhaps it's Garneau's ghost clinging to the mortal plane or maybe Pearce hasn't taken a shower recently.

You want to melt into his arms for now, stop thinking about your assignment if only for tonight. Plus you're in your own hideout, so if he wants to move he'll do it on his own.

Your fingers trail down from his jaw, to his rising and falling chest. There's a myriad of scars where skin broke and faltered on impact. The shin has given under a bullet wound, there's a certain sag to it. You wonder, when circling a nail around it if the bullet is still lodged into his flesh. “This one's a bit old,” You muse out loud, surprised to find yourself intrigued by his lack of outward reaction. “Then again you're not very young yourself.”

His chest rumbles with laughter underneath your ear. “You're not a kid yourself. You feel his fingers prod across your lower back where a thin pale scar runs through the expanse of it and to your hip. “That one stung, I bet.”

“Oh, it sure did.” You snort, “I got that one running from a dozen fixers.”

“Hmmm.”

“...also might have tripped over some barbed wire.”

“Ha!”

//

You feel the pleasant burn of your muscles after some time, stopping in your stretching exercise when a loud knock graces the small apartment's door. A quick sweep of the eye reveals only- one blue tinted figure and you open the door to the sight of Pearce.

Without so much of a greeting, he waltzes in, with each step letting the cold air creep in. “Good...” Your eyes slide to your phone's screen. Just a few minutes past 2. “...morning.” He stands there for a moment, he almost looks uneasy then you look down at his hands. He's flexing his fingers, his knuckles are colored an angry red.

Maybe the specks of blood on the hem of his sweater belong to another key of his sister's recovery or to his niece's death. Maybe the blown look of his eyes isn't entirely caused by an earlier jump in adrenaline. And maybe, when he speaks he looks the weakest you've seen him as of yet.

“Let me tie you up.” Aiden says, as if there was a previous lead-in to this discussion.

Is this another clever way of his to throw you off? To chip your armor? Sensing your confusion, he complements. “Only your hands.” He reaches for your wrist and you let him grasp it, watching as his longer fingers wrap around it. You feel his breath on your ear when he says, “I'll stop when you want.”

There's a minor tremor running up your arm where his hand is tight around you. You could give him a good fight, perhaps incapacitate him if you managed to free your hands later on. Yet, you feel like something's off, like he doesn't truly know what he's asking.

“Is this what you really want, Pearce?”

There's blood filing his cheeks, his expression is almost soft. “What do you say?”

The restraint linking your wrists together behind your back can't be considered comfortable by any means but the lack of control that come with them is pleasant enough. There's an odd sort of delighted shiver through his spine when he brings you down on your knees in front of him, he wets his lips. “You look better like this.” Oh you didn't expect him to be much of a talker. He never said much during your previous trysts.

“Not such a wild thing after all.” You try to read him but something evades you. His hand cups the back of your head, pulling you to him where he sits on the bed. “Really,” Aiden sounds amused when he begins undoing the zipper of his jeans. “You look almost docile.”

You derisively snort, “I can still bite, you'd do well to remember that.” You feel his hand tighten in your hair behind your head and it finally clicks.

Even then, you don't protest, even as he pulls your mouth down onto the head of his cock. Maybe he thought you'd refuse because his grasp slackened somewhat, allowing you one last chance to desist. Instead you let yourself be pushed down and open your mouth. Curious, you chance a glance at his face. Aiden closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Slowly, you moan around him, curling your tongue under the head of his cock. The breath he held is released through his teeth in a long, low hiss.

You will your throat to relax, allow him further in. You begin working up and down, tentatively growing more vigorous while his hold on your hair tightens. You flex your fingers experimentally, the blood still flows but the restraint is tight. There's a certain thrill to it, especially with the added weight of his cock on your tongue. There was a shift then when Aiden experimentally pushed your head into him, and sensing the give, the pace grew faster. Pearce was making you suck him off, sputtering and clumsy. Your jaw began aching with the effort of accommodating the intrusion and superior speed and as he pressed deeper, your throat also hurt with the repeated thrusts. He enjoyed it, you understood, when you choked around him. Saliva slipped past your lips, your vision blurred with tears triggered by the pain from your gag reflex.

For a few minutes the sounds you make bother you, that rapid slapping of flesh and your spluttering would be interrupted only by a fresh onslaught of gasps and rare few moments Aiden allows you to catch your breath. Once again, he releases you and tugs your head back where you take in short, fast and greedy intakes of air.  
You feel the wet head of his cock tap against your cheek and straightened out from the easy slouch you'd fallen in to accommodate the pace he'd set. Your fingers sting from the release of pressure from the restraints and your chest rises rapidly with the effort.

He calls your name but you have to clear your throat before speaking up, “Feels like you got something to prove.” His eyes were practically glazed over, the green color dulled somewhat. You didn't doubt he enjoyed it, but you had an inkling it wasn't a preferred taste of his. Quite unwilling to continue getting rammed in the throat, you instead ran your tongue along the vein of his cock, tasting the metal of his zipper when you went too far.

“How about we switch?”

An almost frown comes to mar his brow. “You didn't--”

“What I'm saying is I want to ride you with a hand around your throat while you're powerless to do anything about it.”

To his credit, Aiden goes quite a long time solemn and panting before succumbing to stuttering groans and shortened moans. His hips are desperate in their seeking, his lips are soft under yours. You feel his Adam's apple bob underneath your palm and see his lips part in silent exclamations, the muscles in his chest jump with the pressure around his throat and because of the way his hands are tied under him.

You withdraw your hold when you sense his breath stutter and delight in seeing red flush his cheeks. A low growl clawed its way of his throat yet he shivered and pleaded beneath you while still bond to your will. But morning soon comes and with it a certain convoy.

Aiden tugs at his restraints and bites your lip and neck when you hurry your pace above him. You're gasping for breath, mind clouding over with pleasure as heat gathers and flares inside of you. A fire that grows and grows along with his thrusts inside of you. The lick of the flames finally consume all and simultaneously you feel Aiden's body jerk alive underneath, his hips buck into yours with dizzying strength.

Afterwards you roll off him, making quick work of the length of rope tying his wrists together. You wonder faintly how many people have taken over him him this way, how many more have seen the relaxed slump his shoulders and nestled so close to him after such an intense activity.

In the meantime, as Aiden's hands lightly trace random patterns on your skin and you press light kisses over the bites you left along his collarbone, you do your best to rest up, your mind already planning for your next mission.

//

There's news of Otso Berg making his way back to Europe, Miles decided this is where you'd be going and so there you shall be. But the extraction is tricky, so's your replacement. It's... it's not going too well.

Pearce and Dedsec Chicago are too good of an opportunity to pass up but your cell's in need for a Master assassin to join them. The new arrival's shifty, a little nervous tick makes him constantly gnaw on his lower lip, leaving the skin red and irritated.

You're not sure how you'll break this up to Aiden, all you know is that he might like this new Assassin. It's no secret he likes to have an edge when dealing with people and the kid is rather meek.

Sociopath indeed. And that's a lot coming from someone who's fucking the guy.

Well, the process is rather smooth--you warn about Dedsec's little splinter group, teach the kid how to get around the city, remind him how to angle himself away from cameras, pass him some of your own chapstick and he's almost ready to go.

That is until he tries to disembowel you. You're still not sure if he meant to only incapacitate you and panicked or if he wanted to go for your throat or if he did plan for a long and drawn out death. All you know is that your blood's flowing sluggishly out of the wound while you hold yourself together.

You reflexively reach for his neck, wanting to pin him down. But a blinding hot pain travels through your muscles, and renders you weak.

You're forced to relinquish your hold around his throat when you discover one hand isn't enough to keep your insides in. Unable to muffle your cries and pained gasps, you fall down to your knees, shoulders quaking with unmatched pain. You collapse against the cement wall behind you, as you slide down, the blood on your fingers and at your feet appear black in the night.

His blade is shaking, something you noticed comes from the unrivaled tremors from the whole of his body. His hood's down, his eyes are blown wide.

Through the pain, you manage. “W-who... are y...”

“It doesn't matter.” The man you know as Erim came with such high recommendations, how could a spy worm his way into the Brotherhood this way?

Your vision's getting blurrier by the second. When leaning back into the wall behind you, your phone grinds against you from inside your back pocket. If only... oh you'd never live this down.

“I could be another remnant of Project Siren, maybe Da Costa's henchman or even a Blume agent. It doesn't matter.”

Why? You gnash your teeth instead of asking as stabbing aftershocks of the pain rob you of your words.

The once-Initiate now-Templar/Blume/fixer still hasn't calmed down and marches on despite the assured poise of his speech. You wonder if his nerves are just this usually frayed or if it's all a clever ruse.

“They wanted you alive, but they can always make use of your corpse.”

Abstergo then.

You only then realize why your vision's reduced to smudges of colors, those are tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. You know you won't be able to fight him off even if he gets close enough. You're going to die here, on top of some low-rise building in the worst part of Chicago.

A loud buzz hinders his advance, while he gets distracted by his phone, you chance a look around, your gift revealing little in your current state. The violent crimson of your assassin is easy to grasp but the points of blue are small and far in the distance. You berate yourself, Pearce couldn't possibly know where you are.

A small clicking noise resounds from your left, a creak even. The gray mapping of the world around you allows the littlest of understanding of the situation before the temperature around you kicks up a dozen degrees. The exploding pipe startles your would-be assassin.

Your feet kick out to allow leverage and despite your pressing hard against the grave injury, you can feel your blood sipping through your tightly joined fingers, your insides churning against your palms. If the Fox really is watching from afar, you can pretend you can make it, if only to push yourself away.

You feel your own phone vibrate in your pocket but your hands cannot be moved from the gash in your abdomen. Bracing yourself, you jab yourself with the flat your forearm. You put your hand on the cement behind you to support yourself, pressing down into your abdomen. Anchoring your feet into the ground, you get up in one swift movement and your shoulders shake violently as white hot pain blinds you.

You're on the verge of passing out, you realize, still refusing to cry out in front of the man. But first, break his line of sight. Without much fanfare, you use the wall as leverage and limp into the building. The metal door closes loudly behind you, the effort of pushing it closed makes you whimper in pain. He's been cut off but for how long?

The descent through the narrow stairwell is clumsy and slow, and you hear the Templar agent hot on your tail--the door being pried open groans in complaint but doesn't yet budge. Whatever it is Aiden does, it's effective. Coming to a quick stop, you use a hand slicked with warm blood to pop in your earbuds. Despite your slow drudging, the buzzing of your phone hasn't let up.

“You have to move quicker.” Comes Aiden's voice, collected as is possible i this occasion.

“Just...” Words can't properly make it out through your gritted teeth. “When I thought... to take a b-breather.”

“Move it, more are on the way.”

Yeah, this extraction... It's not going great. The highest floor of the defunct apartment block is littered with broken, in pieces furniture that won't guarantee much cover in a pinch. You lean into the nearest surface, batting away the darkness closing in.

“How many?”

“Focus on getting out alive.”

“I need to know... How did--”

“Listen to me--” He's agitated, you don't know if you can categorize the jump in his voice as being frightened. You can't believe it takes your dying for genuine emotions to seep through his voice. “One of them is coming your way. Take cover.”

Through the dark veil that's become your vision, you spot two human shaped red spots through the adjacent wall. Both hunched, both armed, both at the ready.

You drop to the floor, unable to hold back a growl at the agonizing pain that reverberates from your wound to the tip of your fingers. Sluggishly, you fish for your small handgun with your non-dominant hand. The blood makes it almost impossible to get a firm grip, and your aim is approximate at best.

“So you do carry more than a taser.”

“Can't let... you know all... of my secrets, Pearce.”

Your special sight lets you know when the first assailant will cross the threshold--against all your instincts, you draw your dominant hand away from your abdomen. Your vision swims. Yet the hold of the gun is true, the aim shakes but the blobs of color move and--

“Take cover!”

You can have one. You spot the change in color--the red growing more intense as the cover the wall provides fades--the figure's head shoots back form the impact, he falls instantly, the second one raises his weapon--

The spray should be superior to yours, but he's got a body falling back into him. He's done for, his shoulder and chest cave under your fire. The recoil from the sidearm is minimal but each kickbacks feel like additional stab wounds. He falls limply, the red color fades.

You hear it before you realize it's coming from you, a plaintive whimper--before you feel the ground against your cheek. It's quiet for now. Your breathing is loud in your ear but--

“--moving, you have to get out of here!”

You can't. There's a pool of grayish liquid entering your field of vision. More blood. You don't know if you have enough strength to blink away the gift that allows you to spot your enemies. The pain's a distant thrum. There's three other crimson forms approaching from some ways away.

“Fuck.”

The smart move would be to ditch you. A Brother would have tried to end your suffering and destroy your body as best as possible.

“...Aiden?”

“There's more on the way, you have to get up.”

You hear the footsteps now, but your eyes are closing.

“I see them. Listen... they can't... take me.” Your voice is reduced to breathless rasps. The pain's all consuming, your head light. “Burn...”

The last thing you hear before surrendering to the darkness is Aiden's voice in your ear, “Stay awake, don't close your eyes--are you listening to me!?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to go for a 10k one shot but some parts are just so... strained? Over exposition all over the place and I can't seem to figure out Aiden's character.
> 
> I mean he's no Alex Mercer but man, that guy is WEIRD.
> 
> Maybe this will be a two parter, maybe three, I'm really not sure.
> 
> Ah well, stay safe and good health upon you all!


End file.
